


A Hue Of Purple

by Measured



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Community: cottoncandy_bingo, Community: fic_promptly, F/M, Fluff, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4057963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Until Virion, most of her experience with poetry was crude limericks scrawled on walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hue Of Purple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Samuraiter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samuraiter/gifts).



> cottoncandy_bingo: inspiration. Feel better, Samuraiter. Thanks to Ginger for the betaing.

His room was far more extravagant than battlefields and bars she'd danced in before. Sometimes she had to keep reminding herself that these were now her quarters as well.

Lit by only the hearth and the candlelight, the true grandeur of the room was understated. The tapestries of roses, the golden crest upon the hearth, they were all faint glimmers and reflections she'd only glimpsed while spinning. The large windows had only a hint of glass uncovered by the velvet wine-red curtains. A hint of moonlight lit her dancing path, if only she could live up to such a stage.

She mentally chastised herself as she missed the step, like a complete amateur. With that negative thought, she almost botched the next step, and the next. She took one last spin and took a bow so low that the filmy material touched the marble floors. He must have noticed her falter. She looked up to him, ready for the disappointment she deserved.

"Bravo, bravo, my dear!" His applause was dulled by his gloves, but he always made up for it with a thousand compliments.

"Th-thank you, but really, I made so many mistakes. I nearly fell on the bed!"

She twisted the rose colored fabric tied to her wrist. Coins jangled as she did, dissonant to the tune she'd had in her mind.

"My dear, you are much too hard on yourself! You are as pure as a new spring, as lovely as this starry night sky. Any clumsiness or misstep only adds to your beauty, not detracts from it."

"You're always so poetic..." Olivia said. 

Though sometimes she didn't even know what the words he said to her meant, she always knew they were a compliment.

"Yes, I do have a silver tongue, in fact, you might even say it's made of _gold_ ," he said

She twisted the cloth more, and looked away to hide her flushed face. Even though she knew very well how good his tongue was, the memory still made her skin hot. Olivia had to admire his confidence. He always thought so well of himself, while she would go and apologize for breathing. She'd been trying to practice being noble and confident, but it seemed she always stumbled somewhere and another flood of _sorries_ overwhelmed her.

"Come now, I am your devoted husband. Come sit by me, my dear, and I will tell you the grand story of Sir Veeryan, humble poet. I submitted under a _nom de plume_ , for I did not want noble stature to influence how people enjoyed my dashing prose."

He smiled, and took her hand in his as she sat beside him on the massive gold and white bed. Faint pale cloth draped down from the bed frame, closing off the world. At this hour, no servants or nobles would disturb them, unless it was an utmost emergency.

His blue hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. The finery of the day had been replaced with his slightly less fine sleeping leggings, and even those were covered in brocade. Not even in his off-duty moments would Virion suffer being inelegant. He wore no shirt to hide his muscled chest, which she suspected was half of her distraction, and why the dance had gone so horribly. Sometimes she'd remember a word he'd said in the middle of the day, a kiss against her neck, and she would be completely disarmed. Blushing until she'd botched up whatever she had been doing, whether it was dancing, dinner parties, or swords practice.

"Are you ready, my love? This tale is so epic, it might take centuries to tell," Virion said. He chuckled at his own joke, and began after her quick nod. Words failed her, and the touch of his skin made her forget little things she was doing.

"They called my prose purple and turgid of all things. But their slaps do not sting, no! To be called gaudy, dazzling and is purple not the most noble of all the colors?"

She nodded. Khan Basilio had never been much for poetry, save the occasional bawdy rhyme repeated when he had finished a few too many drinks. Until Virion, most of her experience with poetry was crude limericks scrawled on walls.

"And turgid?" He laughed. "To be called _thick?_ Hardly an insult."

She blushed even harder at that.

"But you, my dove, you deserve all the poetry. You deserve a throne of parchment of poems adoring you, paeons sung to your every step! Truly, a crown of beautiful words shall be yours, even if I must dedicate my entire life to it," Virion said. He awaited her response with a searching, passionate gaze.

Olivia twisted her cloth over and over, but it didn't make it any easier. Anxiousness overwhelmed her, until all her apprehensions burst out at once.

"Oh, but I couldn't!----I---It'd be so embarrassing! I---I couldn't take that at all!"

Knowing Virion, he'd make a beautiful poem about their most intimate moments. And then everyone would know things about her that only he knew. Things like how many embarrassing moans she'd make, or how he'd found many different uses for her dancer's flexibility.

"Shall Sir Veeryan make another appearance? Oh, think of it! Whole books of poems, all about your grace, beauty, and kindness!"

She didn't have the heart to tell him that she suspected Sir Veeryan was less incognito than he believed.

"Um, well...how about you keep those poems just for me for a little while, at least...I think I don't really want to share you like that. Even a little," she said. She dared to meet his gaze, and found only kindness in his brown eyes.

Overcome with the moment, he took her hand and kissed it. 

"You are absolutely correct! How could I not see it, when faced with the brilliance of my prose, many women and surely some men would fall completely heartsick. And being a reformed rogue, and one of noble heart, I could not damn them to such a fate. After all, you own my heart. You are Roseanne's greatest treasure, and my life's goal is your comfort."

"Then, we'll each have something only for each other... I'll dance...special dances. Just for you," she said. She leaned in to kiss his neck, a daring move, and one to make the meaning absolutely clear. 

It was a daring gambit, but maybe one day his confidence would start to rub off on her.


End file.
